Marietta
The train travels between the West Virginia hills, but my heart travels up and down. A piece of me is back home, but I studied hard for this chance. And waited long for that other Chance, the one with gray eyes.
The gray-eyed Chance meets my train. He takes my hands in his and kisses my cheek right out on the railroad platform. He is older now, a boy no longer.
Florence waits at their house for me, and I meet Chance’s daddy. Chance shows me Marietta. It overlooks a river that makes the branch back home look puny. Red-brick college buildings remind me of Morgantown. I yearn to learn their secrets.
To tell the Bible-swearing truth, the secrets I most crave to learn lie behind gray eyes that speak to me even when Chance is silent.
We sit across from one another in a small ice cream shop. “I still owe you a root beer float,” he says.
I ask the question that keeps my tears in readiness. “When do you leave?”
“Four days. Back to Camp for more training. Then I sail to France. I always wanted to see France, but not with a company of soldiers.”
The root beer burns my throat and I can’t speak.
* * *
My examination is on Monday. Sections of it work my brain right hard, but Mama prepared me well.
On Tuesday, we take Chance to the train. He kisses me, and his arms take their time in letting go. I promise to write lots of letters.
His brown uniform blends in with others, but my eyes keep Chance apart, even as the train pulls from the station. Part of my heart goes with him.
* * *
I learn that I passed my examination, and classes start next week. I telegraph Daddy to send my trunk. I promise to study hard and make them proud.
I recall Aunt Freddie’s words. Things happen a body don’t plan on. Mama and Daddy planned on a house full of young’uns and got only me. Grandpa planned to find me a husband and came face to face with his haints. As for my plans, I’ll wait until the war ends and see what Chance plans. If we’re lucky, when college and war are in our past, we’ll have no haints to trouble our future.
* * *
After my first day of classes, my trunk arrives. Chance’s daddy wedges it through the doorway of my room, and I commence to unpack.
Tucked in the compartment with my writing things is something I haven’t seen since Gettysburg—a small black and yellow bird that looks real enough to sing. I didn’t know Grandpa saved it, but I know it wasn’t there when I closed that trunk lid two weeks ago. If that goldfinch didn’t bring me Grandpa’s blessing, I reckon it comes right close.
